Bubbles, along the surface of the deep

Dawn is a slow fade, the mystery of night dissipating in the vibrancy of color. A deer nibbles breakfast at the base of the hill, the muscles of his legs as the shift ever so slightly undulate the fur of his body in moving shadows. Birds dip low, briefly land and return to perch in the trees working their catch in their beak.

Through the window, i watch, as warm water fills the sink. My hand strays beneath the faucets stream as i wait. A few dishes remain from last night, remnants of dinner dried on their faces. Around and over it flows, between fingers, lending its heat.

Hours ago, in the shower, i let the cascade beat my neck and work my shoulders, little rivers running through my hair into my beard pulling it down in wet tendrils where the water continued in long lines eventually finding the drain. Steam thickens the air. I like it hot enough to pink my skin, so when she steps in, she gasps and turns the knobs to a more comfortable temperature.

Soap slicks the body as we wash, places we can not reach ourselves. Places we neglect in our day to day, yet feel deep when clean. Everything and nothing gurgling, then gone, and nothing between.

The deer meanders into the woods, meal complete and i lever the water off, sink mostly full and lower the dishes in one by one. They clink and clatter against each other then settle to the bottom, beneath a blanket of bubbles. The sun, now above the trees, pierces the window playing along their skin in swirling rainbows.
written for Theme Thursday